last rites
by Chaos no Mazoku
Summary: A slow descent into madness before death. Rating, once again, because of the nature of the games showing through, as well as the idea of physically dying.


Agony.

Such intense, exquisite agony. It really was amazing, he mused to himself, the spectrum of human emotion and physical feeling. For example, though he knew he was likely no longer for this world, he simply couldn't bring himself to feel anything other than...well, what _was_ it? Hatred for she, who had turned on him? Intrigue of she, who might yet birth a God? No, no, something much more...

Oh dear. He had failed. If the girl wasn't smart enough to rid herself of the demon within...

No. He couldn't die here, not with so much at stake. He didn't want to be stuck in this eternal cycle any longer. Oh, but he was on his back, and it was so much trouble to roll over to crawl. Crawl like the foul little serpent he was, that's what Claudia would have said. Then again, Claudia was a raving lunatic.

He was, after all, the only sane one there.

How best not to attract attention? Adding another mark to those that would already, surely, mar his body wasn't exactly on his agenda at the moment; and besides, those two needed not an interruption from him at this point. Heather seemed to have discovered the same exquisite agony as he, within that passing moment he'd closed his eyes, and he was fairly certain he knew what was to come afterwards.

He didn't want to...no, he simply _couldn't_ be in that same room, not if God truly _was_ to be birthed here. Xuchilbara would surely come for him. And really, that would be such an inconvenience; there was still much that he had left to learn, still so much more that could be his and his alone. He couldn't risk ending it all – no, not now, not when he still had so much power resting in the very palms of his hands.

Shakily, he stiffened one ankle and, pressing his toes against the ground, shifted a few inches backwards. His lip curled a bit – well, at least that atrocious metal grating was decent at disguising the rustle of fabric. Besides, the two others in the room were now far too engrossed in their heated debate to notice him.

Perfect.

He could see the blood starting to show on the girl's face, even if she hadn't noticed it yet. He had to make haste. With an amazing show of exertion, he bent his knees to shove his half-lifeless form backwards, once again, silently and somehow strangely efficiently, amidst the worsening nightmare's horrific surface...until he could simply move no more.

His head fell limply back to rest against a wooden protrusion from the wall, and he just couldn't help the grin that split his face, however lopsided.

The confessional. _His _confessional. Even with all the power that hag could manage, she still couldn't change the confessional, the only thing remaining sacred in this hellish abyss. Grappling blindly, hands soaked in cold sweat and tepid blood, it was with much effort and many painstaking minutes that he finally, with one last inhuman burst of willpower, dragged his useless form into the narrow corridor.

Perhaps this was really it, he was forced to admit, one pale and chill hand wavering as it moved to brush closed first the lightweight door, then the heavy velvet cloth, both somehow left completely in-tact, as if to shield the sinners held within from the prying eyes of outsiders. Strange indeed, and darkly amusing to he, that all of Claudia's efforts couldn't hope to completely corrupt his sanctuary, even with her hideously disgusting, completely fanatical view of her 'paradise.' The mere thought of her idiocy made his eye twitch.

He really couldn't afford to go so soon, it wasn't economical...

Despite himself, his eyes betrayed him in their falling heavily closed as he slumped forwards, grasping halfheartedly at the sill just below the miniscule window connecting the two halves of the confessional. It had always been metal mesh that covered that window, ever since he'd ordered the booth built. Why _had_ he chosen such an unconventional material, really now?

"...be with me, Holy Mother."

It was a gasp, a last feeble expulsion of air from his torn lungs, as he slid, limp and unconscious, slowly down into a slump against the bloody-red cushions of that ill-protected booth.

At least...it was warm here.


End file.
